London

Of course the first thing you notice is the extreme drop in temperature; it could be a lot worse; I mean it's not like going to Canada or the North Pole. At the moment it's about forty five degrees - in this room!!!! I jest - it just feels like that but it was forty five when we landed.

They are used to the cold here so they have their thermostats turned down to 17 degrees Celsius and I keep putting it up to 22; now what that is in English (even though this is England!!) I don't know. I've just found a converter on line - 17 = 62.6, F and 22 = 71.6.

But it is The Fall - autumn when the leaves fall from the trees and together with that and a damp atmosphere it's rather squishy underfoot as you walk along the pavements here - which are those things the Americans call sidewalks.

I can't say it's the most pleasant sensation walking in such an atmosphere - I'd much prefer the sunshine and dryness of LA.

We arrived at 7.30 am local time today and took the express train from Heathrow to Ealing; that's about 15 - 20 minutes. It's a bit silly getting a ride as the train is so much faster.

London is now full of Polish immigrants; they work in the pubs as bar men and bar maids, in coffee shops and cafes and in construction.

Sixty years ago it was the Irish doing the same thing; building Britain after the devastation of the war had flattened lots of the conurbations and factories. As then, it is mainly the young who are new to working here and, as before with the Irish, a lot of them will stay as permanent residents and become invisible immigrants as they are the same colour as the English. Not so with the Jamaicans and other West Indian immigrants of sixty years ago; they have settled in ok but have attracted attention to themselves merely because of their colour and they are, sometimes, the targets of bigots and racist groups; these tend to organise themselves and a right wing political group called the British National Party has had their leader, Nick Griffin, voted in as a member of the European Parliament for North West England in the 2009 European Elections. There was some controversy here when the BBC allowed him to appear on one of their editions of Question Time.

So there is an undercurrent of racial tension. In the 1950s when the immigrants came they were, as I said earlier, predominantly young - also single which meant that the Irish had a reputation for partying - and why shouldn't a good looking group of people party? The same accusations are now aimed at the Poles.

There is a shop around the corner which is owned and run by Asians; I don't mean Asian as the Americans describe people from Japan and China but Pakistanis and Indians and people from various African countries of Indian extraction. What I have noticed is that some young Poles, some very big Poles - and a lot of them are big - tend to hang around that shop with the little Pakistanis and I have also noticed that there is very rarely any trouble in that shop from racist thugs with the big boys hanging around. Is that good or bad? Is vigilantism on the rise or will it eventually be the same as America with security guards in every store?

As I write this there have been two bangs; not gunfire but fireworks. There was also a bottle rocket that went off when I first started to type and then two very loud bangs just now.

It was November 5th yesterday; Bonfire Night which I wrote about the other day. I suppose they had bonfires and fireworks last night and, because it's Saturday tomorrow, there will be a lot more tomorrow night. The wrong time for me to come as I hate fireworks!!

A London Tragedy.

Today is June 16^th which is Bloomsday; the day James Joyce set his novel Ulysses in 1904 as that is the first day he set out with the love of his life; Nora Barnacle. I usually write something about it but this post will only be set on June 14^th and 15^th of this year.

London is one of the greatest cities in the world; you may have another opinion but I love it; I always have. I have grown to like Los Angeles better, with New York and Dublin in my top few too. But London has been hurting these last few months.

The other place that was hurting, in Britain, is Manchester. I am sure one of my relations might have been in that theatre of young kids when a piece of snot, that had been wiped on a wall of a human being, blew himself up and killed many people which included lots of kids. The pity about life is the relations I have in Manchester have gone their separate ways with most of them extending the Irish diaspora and strayed to other parts of the world. I know some are in New York but many still live in Manchester.

In London here were two terrorists murderers on the loose in March and a couple of months ago then this week a fire burnt down a Tower Block in west London.

There it is above Grenfell Tower; that photo was taken sometime during the first few hours of June 14^th – there have been many speculations by all the experts under the sun, telling all and sundry how it happened but you don't need to be an expert to know that if you wrap a building in a cladding that is not fire proof it will catch fire and spread to the rest of the building as opposed to remaining local on concrete.

Last night I buttered some toast, ready to put on some lemon curd and send it down the hatch with a hot drink and as I felt into the drawer for the fish knife, which I use as a butter knife, I thought of some individual who, 2 nights before, would be preparing a little snack for themselves, putting their utensil away and settling down to watch TV. 

That TV and everything else around them is no more. Gone up in an inferno and the person would be lucky to survive. They would be left with nothing – not even a change of underwear or maybe not even any footwear.

People look at them on their television sets and feel sympathy for them and their plight. See them desperately trying to tell the TV reporters what happened, trying to make a case and asking questions; questions questions questions and if they got any answers they would step back and realise there is nowhere to go. All their keepsakes and memorabilia gone; their books, magazines and treasures; all gone.

The big thing that was realised after 9/11 is that paper survived: pieces of paper blew over the streets of Manhattan for many months after the planes hit the World Trades Centre Building and sure enough, the other morning, pieces of paper with a child's page of homework was drifting around the streets of North Kensington. Of course it was on the news all day as the fire was not put out; even now the building is not considered safe.

I thought what it must be like so I threw some clothes in to my case and went down there – nothing much: a few pairs of jeans, shorts and some shirts.

The first thing I saw when I got off the tube train at Latimer Road is what you see at the foot of the page. One of the people being interviewed on TV said “people should not have to live like pigeons.”

Just look at it – at least pigeons can fly.

When I came out of Latimer Road tube station I was directed by a policewoman to the end of a street to donate what I had brought. On the way up the street I saw hundreds and hundreds of people, all volunteers; loading vans directing people with donations to various places.

Food was brought; really good food I heard. Not only the survivors but the volunteers needed to eat.

There were lots of toys, buggies and push chairs; cosmetics and sanitary stuffs, all were needed. Just think what you are doing now – whatever you are using, the survivors have lost. If they have a pen in their hand it will be something that was donated.

I went in to a club, which normally would be serving alcohol, and the floor was covered with donations. Then in to a yard at the back and loads of boxes were marked with shirts, men's hoodies, shirts etc. I found some boxes for what I had brought.

Going back outside I was reminded of 9/11; there was a plain wall where people had written messages in desperation in case someone had seen their loved ones. There were bunches of flowers at the bottom of the wall. 

I saw all this on TV when 9/11 happened and there it was in front of my eyes.

Grenfell Tower is in a very eclectic neighbourhood of London; maybe even Bohemiam rather like some areas of New York, San Francisco and LA, and consequently breeds a lot of great characters and is possibly a writer's delight and the people of the neighbourhood all came together that day; yesterday.

My visit there was emotional; people were crying and looking for lost relatives, others carried photographs and would ask if their sister or brother had been seen; maybe their parents and some were looking for their children; and all the time a buzz of activity could be heard.

It was also inspirational – but these people will want answers; will want to know why they were buttering toast one minute and the next not only homeless but helpless. Throwing their arms around their children who survived and not being able to say much without a tearful break in their voice.

You see it's okay to have sympathy but empathy is what was needed beforehand.

Here is a place where you can send some money; it will convert to your currency automatically so many thanks: https://secure.thebiggive.org.uk/donation/to/5144/27122/

Hottest Day ever in October.

Brighton Beach, Sussex. Standing room only!

Okay here we are back in London and the temperature is 82 degrees; that's 29 in Celsius which is Double Dutch to me.

You would think I'd be used to it having lived in Los Angeles for 16 years but in LA there is hardly any humidity; you hardly sweat - here it's a nightmare.

I have never liked laying in the sun in any case or sitting on the beach and since I've been back I've grown used to the English weather; no one will ever get used to the Scottish weather as that's another story.

So there have been plenty of barbeques and unsightly bare bodies bobbing about and I didn't go to the beach.

Now don't ask me why the weather is so hot on the first day of October in London – the hottest day ever in October by the way.

The brisk weather of Britain usually adds a sense of urgency to the business day whereas in Los Angeles we would wonder who we were going to meet for breakfast, which coffee shop at the beach should we meet in and things like that.

The worst thing about being an actor in Los Angeles would be wearing a heavy suit to an audition – especially if your car has no AC.

This would happen if you had to go for an audition and had to wear a suit. If you go for a commercial and the role is required to wear a suit you have to wear one; they won't let you audition if you don't and there's no such prima Donna behaviour allowed you would simply be sent home.

I was out one day in my shorts and trainers – did I tell this story here before?? Not to worry if I did – I was out on a nice day and my commercial agent called me and said could I get over to West Los Angeles right away and wear a smart suit and tie.

West Los Angeles was always a pain in the arse to get to as it was about 40 minutes drive from Hollywood, where we lived, and you always encountered traffic.

I was out having lunch at the Farmer's Market with my wife so I had to dash home, pick up my suit and things, and get out to West LA.

I didn't have a great deal of time so ran into the bedroom, took my suit out of the wardrobe with shoes, dark socks, shirt and tie and put them into the car.

We made good time and I arrived 10 minutes or so before my appointment; in the car I had an envelope with my head shots in and my resumé stapled to the back and started to get changed in the car park.

I wasn't shy, I've been getting changed in public since I started as an actor so everything went on quite quickly till I came to the shoes – I had brought 2 right shoes and one of them was a tap shoe!!!!

So I had to wear my trainers and they were very comfortable and for the record no I didn't get the commercial.

Bradgate Park, Leicestershire.

The saga of the lost guitar by FedEx has come to a sad end.

Well here we are having arrived at Southampton and after a few days in London we are in Suffolk ready to be off for Edinburgh tomorrow morning; the guitar did arrive, by the way, a few days ago and when I opened the parcel upon our arrival yesterday I found it was broken at the neck; so isn't that a pisser? The guitar you see above is no more.

I went out this morning to Bury St Edmunds, had a cup of coffee and a scone at Harriets, and bought another guitar. It cost $186 and now I have to try and get some kind of compensation from FedEx. I know it will be difficult as they are already asking whether the claim goes to International FedEx or National FedEx so we shall see.

The crack is right at the neck and the action is a little higher because of this. When I took it out I played an open chord and my daughter said 'that doesn't sound too good' and it didn't.

I tried to re-tune it and that's when I saw the crack.

It's a shame because I've had that guitar for about fifteen years; it belonged to a country singer and I really liked the sound.

So have a last look at that guitar above.

Apart from the claims form I have to obtain a PPL licence for my show. A PPL licence is when you use recorded music during the show and I plan to recite a poem by WB Yeats called The Song of Wandering Aengus to some music by Áine Minogue; it's beautiful Celtic music and the poetry of Yeats is superb – which leaves me to do the rest; here's hoping.

We open on August 9th so keep watching this space!!

Hollywood, London and Edinburgh.

Well didn't I forget to write a blog today (yesterday now) after saying the other day that Thursdays was my best day for hits; so all those Thursday people missed out or, should I say, I missed out on their hits.

So what is this really?

I write it down here and it comes out there; on your computer. I don't think we stop and think about the wonders of science and technology; I get hits from India and China in seconds and replies to e-mails almost straight away from there too. It make me wonder why I don't get replies from people just down the street as fast.

I'm due to go to London next Thursday for a couple of weeks; I have three things I have to do there. Number one to go to our grandson's Christening on November 8th; I haven't seen the little darling yet; he has two teeth already and I feel terrible as I missed timed my last trip there and missed the birth – his name is Conor Ruben Johnstone.

Then I have a meeting with someone to set up my one man show at the Edinburgh Festival next year; this should be straight forward just putting a face to a name, have a chat and take it from there. I will probably commit but there are numerous things you need to know when you take your show there. The last time I went I was always receiving bits of bad news from the managers of the venue I took the show to.

For instance I had to pay public liability insurance; this was to be expected, I suppose, but I had to pay nearly ₤200 for my one hour per day. Everybody else had to pay the same rate too which means either the insurance company or the management of the theatre made a lot of money as there must have been at least fifteen shows at the venue.

Some managements make you pay money to the PRS for the songs you sing or the music you play – either live or recorded – and sometimes you don't. I suppose the places where you don't have to pay are usually the places with a music licence and they pay PRS with their licence fee.

I do some songs in the show which I wrote myself and I arrange some traditional ones and that money comes back to me as I'm a PRS member so it's nice to know that someone has my back.

The other plan I have is to shoot a pilot for a comedy series in London in the Spring of next year; I'll be looking for a DP or, as they say in Britain, a DOP – Director of Photography. He's the most important guy in a film crew.

A friend of mine did his first movie with Michael Winner in New York many years ago; everybody called him Mr Winner and the only person he called mister was the DP; so my friend realised straight away how important the DP was.

In England a film crew usually calls the director 'governor' or 'gov' for short; they don't do that here. When Michael Caton-Jones first came here he tried to get them to call him governor but they wouldn't.

Apart from that the film making is exactly the same here as in the UK; the crews in Hollywood have the reputation of being the best in the world – so do the crews inLondon. I have no preference but I have noticed that a lot of the big budget movies get made in London; things like Star Wars, the Indiana Jones series and the James Bond series to name three and a lot of films made in Hollywood do their post production in London too; some films made in London get their post production here by the same token.

But it usually has nothing to do with which place has the better crew – it's usually some kind of tax break or other incentive.

They were all set in Scotland to shoot Brave Heart some years ago but suddenly the Irish Government came in with a deal for the film company and the production went there; they even supplied the Irish army as extras. And what happened to the Scottish money? They made Rob Roy.

By the way no news about the bloody street incident from Sunday evening; it shows how many violent incidents happen here that don't even make the news. Today two people were shot at a Synagogue in North Hollywood and the police cordoned off Sunset Boulevard at about 4.00 this afternoon and surrounded a motel to no avail.

My wife works near there and didn't notice a thing; also two aircraft collided in mid air off the Californian coast; the crash may have involved a Coast Guard plane and a Marine helicopter carrying nine crew members. A search has been launched and debris has been spotted about 15 miles off San Clemente Island.

So we're not without incident here – there's usually some kind of news circus going on but there's not much happening on that front at the moment. The owner of the Dodgers, Frank McCourt (no relation to the late great writer) and his wife are filing for a divorce and of course we have Polanski hovering in the background. And we've just heard news that Dennis Hopper has been diagnozed with prostate cancer - so our thoughts are with him.

So that's it – didn't quite make Thursday; it's a coldish Los Angeles night at 59° and the forecast is 74 for tomorrow leading up to 80 on Sunday.
This is going on at the moment here in good old LA: